


Out There

by HunterPeverell



Category: Merlin (TV), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 22:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3667758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HunterPeverell/pseuds/HunterPeverell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a Monster in Camelot, living in the Dark Tower. Every child knows this, yet Arthur has seen who his father considers monsters, and he can't help but wonder . . . is the Monster of Camelot truly a monster?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Here is a Riddle, to Guess if You Can

**Author's Note:**

> This is a slight crossover with The Hunchback of Notre Dame. So, there's nods to the movie. I own neither! I'm just playing!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Hunchback of Notre Dame. Please enjoy.

Children were warned of the Monster that lived in the Dark Tower.

Arthur, from a young age, was warned time and again not to try and go into the tower for fear that the monster would eat him. Arthur wouldn’t have tried anyway; not only had his father forbade him, but the entrance was hidden, secret. Arthur couldn’t have accessed it if he tried. Not for lack of trying—he went through a rebellious stage when he was nine and attempted to follow his father as his father went to visit the creature.

Arthur never found the entrance. It gave him some small solace when his half-sister, Morgana, couldn’t, either.

Arthur grew quickly, becoming head of the Knights of Camelot at the tender age of eighteen. Eager and willing to prove his leadership, he led his men on quests that always ended in victory. With encouragement from Morgana and Gaius, the Court Physician, as well as Morgana’s maid and good friend, Gwen, Arthur nurtured his compassion and kindness until they were as sharp as the blades he wielded.

He often wondered if he’d have been a larger prat if his father had been in his life more consistently. But that wasn’t so; Uther was busy at the Palace of Justice most days and only showed when he felt necessary.

Uther was lawyer, Judge and executioner. Anyone with magic (or affiliated with magic, for that matter) was swiftly sentenced to death.

Arthur first visited the Palace, when he was fifteen. His father led him down the shadowy halls where the screams reverberated, rattling around in Arthur’s head until he could barely hear anything else. He watched a young boy, no older than twelve, mopping up the floor of sticky red liquid—which Arthur realized was _blood_. He’d seen it before, of course, but he felt sick to the stomach knowing that the person it had belonged to, had given life to, was no longer in this world.

Uther swept by the boy without a glance, but Arthur had shot the boy a small smile, in hopes of cheering him up. The boy smiled slightly in return from under unkempt dark hair. His skin was paler than any other Arthur had seen, and he wondered what the boy had done to deserve work in such a place.

Arthur watched as whips were snapped about in the air, as cranks stretched bone until they broke, as guards practiced with their bows and spears by hunting young teens down like wild boar, as women and children screamed as their eyes were gouged out . . .

_“They’re Sorcerers.”_ Uther had said, _“They aren’t human.”_

_“Yes, father.”_ Arthur had said, his face blank as he watched a screaming woman, face wrinkled with time, lowered into a vat of boiling water.

Arthur never wanted to go back there again.

He left that placed sickened by what his father did. He swore that when he was king, the Palace of Justice would be torn down, stone by stone.

Morgana and Gwen agreed with him.

Since Uther was rarely around, the three of them would often go on trips out of the city—usually with Sir Leon to accompany them. Out of all of the knights, Sir Leon was the only one who was loyal to Arthur and Arthur alone.

He would never speak of what they did.

For though they said they were hunting trips—indeed, Arthur did do some hunting for show—they traveled throughout the kingdom, speaking with their people and helping them when they could. Morgana and Arthur were easily the best swordsmen in the land, though Sir Leon and Gwen were not bad and bandits and vagabonds that attacked villagers were swiftly dealt with.

(Arthur found that he could barely stomach hunting after his visit to the Palace of Justice. He preferred to fight and kill people who were doing the same to other, more defenseless people.)

The people loved Arthur and Morgana, calling them the Light of Camelot. Arthur tried not to let it go to his head.

Along their travels they met many people, but a few struck chords within. One was a man by the name of Lancelot, who was brave and had the heart of a knight. He was common born, however. Often Arthur would call him up and together they would go on quests. Arthur promised to one day knight him, when Arthur ruled these lands. 

Another was Percival, a large man with a kind heart. He saved Gwen from falling off of a cliff when bandits had attacked them. Arthur pointed him in the direction of Lancelot and last he had heard the two had hit off and were traveling about the land, earning names for themselves as patrons of the people.

Elyan, Gwen’s brother, was yet another. Arthur and Sir Leon had not known at the time who the man was, only that he had helped them in escaping the Slave Trader Jarl’s lair. When they stumbled into Morgana and Gwen’s camp, Gwen had gasped and flew into his arms. Then the story had come out, and Arthur kindly helped pay off Elyan’s debts and welcome him back into Camelot. Arthur would sometimes go down to the blacksmith’s shop and teach Elyan how to fight.

The last was a man by the name of Gwaine. Gwaine met Arthur in a bar brawl—and met him later in another brawl. In fact, almost every time Arthur met Gwaine, in was in some fight or another. Yet the man’s talent with the sword rivaled even Arthur’s. Gwaine was horrified to learn that Arthur was nobility—which he did after their third meeting. But Arthur’s kindness to the people they had met the first two times were enough for Gwaine to give him a chance, and other the years Arthur had won Gwaine’s trust.

From the darkness of the Tower, two bright blues eyes watched Arthur return to the city, grinning and golden. The sun shone off his armor, his smile aimed at his people and his friends. The eyes watched, jealously and longing lingering in their shadowed depths.

_What I’d give just to live one day out there._

The eyes turned away from the light.


	2. Grateful to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Emotional Abuse
> 
> Title from 'Out There' from Hunchback of Notre Dame

Chapter 2: Grateful to Me

“Boy,” Uther said, stepping into the room. He heard someone—some _thing_ —scrabbling above him. The boy swung into view, long used to his Tower and its contents. He landed gracefully, perfectly. His face was blank, his eyes locked on the ground.

_He’s learned_ , Uther thought with grim pleasure.

“Yes, Master?” The boy asked softly.

“I have brought lunch,” Uther said, holding up a basket. “Eat with me,”

“Of course!” A flicker of happiness danced across the boy’s face, but was soon lost in the bustle as the boy raced up the ramp, Uther following at a more sedate pace.

On the second level, Uther watched the boy make up the table, setting their seats just how Uther liked it and making sure there was no dust left on any surface. Uther crossed the platform and settled himself on it, bringing out bread and cheese and meat and fruit from his basket.

“So, Merlin,” Uther said, the name settling uncomfortably on his mouth—damn Gaius for naming the monster. “What have you been up to?”

The boy seated himself gingerly, waiting until Uther served him his meager portion.

“Some more carvings, Master.” The boy answered. “I have also been cleaning the Palace of Justice, as you have instructed me to do.”

“Good, good.” Uther said. “Those with magic are monsters.”

“I am a monster,” the boys agreed.

“I give them the Justice they deserve,” Uther said.

“You are kind, Master,” the boy said.

“If it weren’t for me, you would be dead.” Uther said. “Your mother abandoned you to save herself, after all.”

“You have shown me more kindness then I deserve.” The boy said gratefully.

“Good,” Uther said, satisfied. “Now, have you been keeping up with your studies?”

“Yes, Master.” The boy said. “Gaius has been up here twice weekly.”

“Very good,” Uther said, studying the boy closely. “You have been nowhere but the Tower and the Palace, correct?”

The boy shifted slightly, but nodded dutifully.

Uther narrowed his eyes.

“You wish to leave this Tower.”

“No!” The boy’s head snapped up, eyes wide and horrified. “You are good to me, Master, and I . . .”

“Don’t lie to me _boy_ ,” Uther spat, shoving his food away. The boy did not touch his plate, startled into submission, head bent and hands clasped into fists.

“You want to go outside,” Uther said, his voice quiet and measured.

“N-no,” the boy mumbled. “I just . . . I see people and sometimes I wish I could go be with them.”

“They would run screaming!” Uther snapped. “You are a _monster_.”

The boy flinched, and his fist tightened slightly. “I know,” he said in a voice that was barely a whisper. “It’s rare I feel that way, Master. I won’t feel that way again, I promise.”

“You had best keep that promise,” Uther growled. “I want you to scream tonight.”

The boy shook, but he nodded. Uther felt a shiver of satisfaction at that. This monster was loyal— _devoted_ —to him. Oh, if only the free sorcerers of the world could see how far one of their own had fallen.

Uther left shortly after that, taking the food with him.

That night he listened to the boy’s screaming and smiled.


	3. Still I See Your Face and Wonder . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own. Reviews are love.

When Arthur was twenty two, the party that set out held only held Sir Leon and Gwen. Morgana was laid up with a cold, and Gaius had sternly told her that she was not to move. She had waved Arthur’s statement that they would delay aside and told him to go.

“Our people are more important,” she had told him with a croaky voice. “They rely on our help. Go, Arthur.”

She had look fierce and stubborn, which is almost exactly how she looked when Uther had told her that she was his daughter (though that time there had been a great deal of hurt as well). Arthur had nodded and kissed her forehead. He then left, ordering a stable hand to ready to horses.

The village they had set out for was one recovering from a brutal attack a mere three weeks ago. When they neared, they heard the sounds of chattering and bustle, signaling that the village was most likely doing quite well.

They decided to have a picnic outside of the village on a nearby hill, and so they were treated to the show of a man, bent over with age, jump a fence.

That in and of itself was not all that entertaining—well, from the view that his knees must have been killing him it was—but what happened next changed Arthur’s life.

The man’s neighbors were a young couple about to have their first child. Arthur and Gwen and Morgana had visited this village when the child first started showing. Though they were kind and loving people, their garden and fields were failing, and the man worried that his wife and child would not have enough to eat. Their hearts had gone out to the couple, and Morgana had ordered several sacks of grain to be taken to that village. Uther had never noticed.

The crops had failed yet again, Arthur saw in dismay as the old man hobbled through the brown stems and leaves.

But then the man looked furtively around and lowered him hand, palm down, to the ground.

“ _Geþeón_ ,” the old man murmured. And, as if by magic— _it is magic,_ a small voice told him—the plants began to pulse green. The stalks stiffened and straightened, and suddenly the field was full of small, green, living plants.

Arthur felt frozen in his shock, watching as the man quickly hobbled back the way he had come looking slightly terrified.

“He used magic,” Sir Leon muttered.

“To help someone,” Arthur said distantly.

“Are we to do anything, Sire?” Sir Leon asked reluctantly.

Arthur and Gwen looked at each other. Gwen’s face was soft and pleading, and Arthur knew he could not justifiably condemn that old man to death—he’d probably die come winter anyways.

“No,” Arthur said out aloud. “I grow weary. I should like to turn back to Camelot now . . .”

Sir Leon nodded in understanding and silently the three of the slipped away.

Arthur and Gwen regaled the whole scene to Morgana, who blinked slightly. She was still confined to the bed, piled with pillows and a roaring fire just across the room. She coughed quietly throughout the tale.

“So what does this mean?” She finally croaked, eyeing Arthur curiously.

“It means my father is wrong,” Arthur said. “I highly doubt that old man enchanted those crops just to kill the couple. There are a thousand easier ways to kill them without suspicion landing on him—after all, poisoned berries could easily get mixed up in their food or some such thing. But instead he helped their crops, and that is blatant magic. It could have easily gotten him killed.”

They all flinched as, in the distance, the Monster began to scream. Its howls filled the night, laced with agony and hate.

“It’s almost as if it knows what we’re talking about,” Gwen said absently.

With the air of long practise, the three tuned out the dreadful noise and resumed their conversation.

“To think that there are good magic users, good sorcerers out there,” Arthur shook his head slowly. “How many have died at my father’s hands?”

“Things will be different once you are king,” Gwen said assuredly, looking at Arthur as though she had never seen him before. He felt a warm glow unravel in his chest as he smiled back.

Morgana’s body was seized in coughs, gasping for breath. Gwen rushed to her side, stroking her back and whispering small words of comfort to her mistress.

“I’ll go get Gaius.” Arthur said and bolted for the doors. He tore through the castle, darting past servants and knights before bursting into the physician’s chambers.

“Gaius!” He called loudly. The room was empty, the vials and books in their usually spots. Something smells vaguely foul, but Arthur ignored it in favor of scanning for the Court Physician.

“Gaius?” He called again. There was a muffled thump and the door at the far end of the room opened slightly. Gaius slipped through clutching a book and tottered down the staircase and onto the flat ground.

“Arthur,” he greeted as he set his book down nearby. “What can I do for you?”

“Morgana has gotten worse,” Arthur said without preamble. Gaius nodded and grabbed his physician bag, hurrying to the door. Arthur made to follow him, but stopped short at the book Gaius had set down.

_Tales of Far Away Lands._

“What on the good earth do you need that book for, Gaius?” Arthur muttered before shaking his head and following the old man.


	4. All My Life I watch Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The Ancient Call will begin to only be updated once a week after this next chapter. This story will continue being updated twice a week. Warnings for self-harm and abuse. Enjoy!

Merlin’s throat burned.

He whimpered softly to himself, but even that hurt. He tightened his eyes and prayed that Gaius would come up soon. Merlin dared not go down after his Master’s visit for a bit of relief.

His Master had probably warned Gaius not to come for a few days.

That meant no food and no medicine for two or three days. Merlin could make it—he was _strong_. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. 

He dragged himself to the window and laboriously pulled himself up onto the sill. The wall had one deep set window, wide enough that Merlin could sit comfortably on the sill and still not be seen by anyone below. The bars, thick and many, spanned the gap and cast striped shadows against the floor.

He coughed slightly, spitting up some blood.

He took a deep breath, breathing through both his mouth and nose. The sun was shining, lighting up half of the sill, but Merlin didn’t want to go into the light—he was a monster. Monsters don’t deserve light.

(Merlin does not know that Uther revels in his screams. Uther first ordered him to scream until he bled when he was five. It is Merlin’s punishment and Uther’s ultimate control. The boy willingly screams himself until his throat tears and is forced to stop. Merlin has no idea how much Uther loves his screams, which take longer and longer to stop as the years go by and his throat gets used to the treatment. Merlin only thinks that it is his Master’s right to tell him to scream, and that perhaps, one day, it will grant him in clemency. Perhaps he will scream the evil out. He hopes so.)

Merlin brings his knees up to his chest and buried his head in his knees. He only wanted to go outside. To see the people right in front of him instead of from above. To smell baking bread fresh instead of the distant wafts he got. He just . . .

He looked like everyone else, right? No one had to know about the evil that coiled inside of him. He’d play around with his glass and wood scraps before going out, releasing the hated excess magic so that his eyes wouldn’t glow golden at random times. He’d blend in. He’d be a face in the crowd. He’d be free for one day. That was all he asked. He just . . . he wanted to be free and human for one day.

But his Master would not let him, and while Merlin hated his Tower, he feared his Master more.

Merlin’s earliest memories were of his Master. There used to be guards posted outside his door, before his Master was assured of Merlin’s loyalty. He’d come in, gazing at Merlin as though Merlin were the root of all his problems and lecture Merlin on the evils of magic; how corrupt it was, how it twisted one’s thoughts until they were unrecognizable.

Merlin, a small child who could barely climb the ladder to his bed, hung his head in shame.

Merlin was dimly aware that when he was younger there had been other people to care for him. Someone must have suckled him, he reasoned—Gaius had taught him about infants. Someone must have cared for him, taught him to use the chamber pot and empty it down the hole near the door. Someone must have taught him to talk, to walk. Someone must have cared.

(Merlin doubted it was his Master, though his Master was his entire world—Merlin owed him everything, his very life, even. Merlin would do anything for his Master because he _owes_ him, and his Master _owns_ him . . .)

Merlin does not remember those people, but thinks that perhaps he chased them away for being magic, for being a monster. His Master must have been the only thing keeping them near in those early years.

(He will never remember Matilda, an older woman with black and grey hair who would croon out songs when she thought no one was around. Nor will he remember Ives, a rail thin man with a carefully groomed mustache, who carefully dressed him each day and watched with hidden pride as the small boy took his first steps and said his first words. There were others—Odo, Ella, Geva—but they all were accused of sorcerer at the same time when Merlin was four. Even the guards—Gilbert and Miles—were found guilty. Merlin does not remember Miles patiently answering his questions on the everyday life he saw from his window. He does not remember Gilbert sneaking him pies and fruit. He does not remember their screams as they burned at the stake at the foot of his Tower. To Merlin, they never existed.)

Now it was just his Master and Gaius.

Merlin didn’t know why Gaius had stayed.

“Merlin?”

Merlin whirled around, a grin already stretching across his face.

“Gaius!” He croaked, hopping off of the sill and towards the older man who had just entered.

“It sounded bad last night,” Gaius said before mock-whispering, “I won’t tell Uther if you won’t.”

Merlin nodded solemnly and led Gaius up the ramp to the second platform. Gaius followed quite willingly, his medicine bag roped around his shoulder.

Merlin never felt comfortable that Gaius went behind his Master’s back, but he cared too much about the old man to tell on him.

(Gaius remembers a small child with a mop of black hair crying because he had magic and was evil. He remembers Merlin trying to scratch the magic out of his skin, of running into walls in hopes of bashing the evil away. He remembers that child looking up at him with lips bloody from screaming and telling him that his Master was too good for him, how he didn’t deserve life. Gaius hates Uther with everything he has. Merlin is like the son he never had—and is the only reason Gaius has stayed this long.)

Merlin sat down on his stool and let Gaius poke and prod at his throat, downing whatever vial Gaius shoved at him.

“What was it this time?” Gaius asked softly.

Merlin bent his head. “I . . . my Master was displeased that I wished to go outside.”

Gaius froze and Merlin flinched slightly.

“Outside?” Gaius said carefully.

“I only want to . . . to smell fresh bread and see the people and feel the grass beneath my feet!” Merlin explained hurriedly, looking at Gaius in worry. “But I won’t, I promised my Master that I wouldn’t.”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, a pained look crossing his face. “That is something that you would be wise not to mention to Uther.”

“I did not mean too,” Merlin murmured, hanging his head. Gaius reached over and lifted Merlin’s chin.

“You may yet do those things, one day,” the old physician said.

Merlin shook his head. “I am a monster,” he said. “I do not belong with people.”

Merlin could have sworn he saw a tear in Gaius’ eye.

*

Gaius left shortly after that, since Uther had not actually given him permission to be there with Merlin. Merlin understood, but he was still sad to see the older man go. He saw Gaius out the door before climbing up the ramp and scaling the ladder to the little third story where his bed was located. He paused, peering down to the bottom floor as the yellow-orange light faded into darkness. There was no noise from his Tower but his breathing.

Satisfied with that, Merlin reached out to the wall and carefully pulled out a stone. Gravel fell onto his nest of blankets, but Merlin would clear that up later. The space was just big enough for his skinny frame to slip inside. He wiggled through, pulling a cloak behind him. He had cleared this little tunnel out years ago, moving the stones a little bit at a time. They had been three deep; Merlin had kept one which he used to fool his Master and Gaius (which he felt bad about, because he owed his Master _everything_ but Merlin just couldn’t stay, he was too _restless_ ). The other two he disposed of and he used a dark blanket in place of the outside stone, so that no one would wonder why there was a missing stone.

He pushed the blanket aside and let a little magic leak out, scaling down the side of the tower. His cloak allowed him to blend into the stone, and he reached the ground within a few minutes. He glanced around, but no one was paying attention to him. The sun was setting, and people were turning towards their homes and beds.

 

(He only wished to see the outside. He did not leave the Tower often, because his Master would be even more displeased if—when—he found out. But he _couldn’t_ stay inside the stone walls forever, no matter how hard he may try. His spirit belonged to the earth, the sea, the sky. The darkness and the cold and the stone could not settle him.)

(He felt terrible each time he left, but he could not stop himself).

*

Merlin stole through the shadows, watching children complaining to their parents, drunks getting tossed out of taverns and shopkeepers close their doors.

Merlin was grinning unabashedly, drinking in the sights and smells and knowing that if he were caught . . .

“Oh!”

Merlin ended up on the ground. He hadn’t been looking, and he had run into someone. She was on the ground with him, blinking. The woman was very pretty, Merlin noticed. Her 

skin was a light brown, and her dark hair was curly and pulled back in a messy knot.

“S-sorry,” Merlin stammered.

“Think nothing of it,” the young woman laughed, standing up and offering Merlin her hand. Merlin took it and heaved himself to his feet. Her skin was rough and dry, but warm.

“I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the woman blushed.

“Neither was I,” Merlin offered.

“I suppose we both are accidents waiting to happen!” The woman grinned. “I’m Gwen.”

“Uh . . . Merlin.”

“Are you okay?” Gwen asked gently. “You’re voice sounds terrible.”

Merlin shook his head, “I’m fine,” he said. “Had a bout of sickness, but I’m not contagious.”

“Good,” Gwen said. “Well, Merlin, I shan’t keep you.”

“N-no, you’re fine. H-have a good night!”

“You too. I hope to see you again one day Merlin.” Gwen smiled and stepped past him, turning down a small alley and disappeared from his sight.

“Goodbye, Gwen.” Merlin felt a large grin cover his face, and he felt he had had quite enough of the human world for this night. He turned back the way he had come and scaled the wall once more, intent on returning to his bed and thinking about Gwen—the first human contact he had had in years besides Gaius and his Master.

“Gwen,” Merlin tried out. It rolled off his tongue nicely—it was a pretty name.

His smile slowly slid off his face. Gwen wasn’t a monster—if she knew what he was, she’d run screaming.

“I am a monster,” Merlin whispered to himself, and drowned in the darkness.


	5. You're A Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The moment you’ve all been waiting for . . .

Morgana’s cold had turned worse, and for days she was confined to the bed. Uther even managed to tear himself away from the Palace of Justice to see how his beloved daughter was doing. It took a week, but eventually Gaius managed to bring her fever down.

“Arthur?” Gaius asked, exhaustion clear in his tone. “Would you please go and fetch me a sleeping draught? I left it clearly labeled on the table in my rooms.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. He had been in Morgana’s rooms so often and Gaius had made use of the worried shadow and gave him something productive to do—for which Arthur was thankful.

He made his way down to the chambers and barged through the door. There was a squeak, and Arthur blinked in time to see a young boy fall back—into the table, knocking the vial full of dark liquid to the floor.

It smashed, its contents spilling over the flagstone floor.

“You idiot!” Arthur shouted, marching furiously over. “How could you be so clumsy?”

“S-sorry,” the boy croaked.

“ _Sorry_ isn’t going to fix this!” Arthur raged.

The boy mumbled something, but Arthur ignored him, staring down at the broken glass and subsistence staining the floor.

“How am I supposed to get this to Gaius?” He asked blankly.

The boy cleared his throat softly. “I could—I could make more,” he offered.

“It’s the least you could do,” Arthur grumbled.

The boy sprang to his feet and scurried about the room, grabbing different bottles and jars from the shelves as he went.

Arthur stood out of his way and observed the boy. He had a floppy mop of black hair and bright blue eyes. His skin was paler than any other Arthur had seen. He was dressed only in trousers and a light shirt—and a red neckerchief for some reason. He was about as tall as Arthur.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked eventually.

The boy ducked his head. “Nobody, sir,” was the quiet response.

“Come now, surely you have a name.”

The boy shot a quick look at Arthur before lowering his head again. “S-some call me M-Merlin, sir.”

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated. “And what are you doing in Gaius’ chambers Merlin?”

Merlin flinched. “Gaius was lending me a book,”

“A book,” Arthur said, unimpressed.

“Yes.”

“Yes, _sire_.”

“Not sure I’d go _that_ far.”

Merlin froze, just as Arthur did. They stared at each other before Merlin’s gaze flickered away. “I-I mean, of course . . . _sire_.”

Arthur was speechless, but Merlin wrapped up the potion fairly quickly after that and handed it over to Arthur. Their hands did not brush, and Arthur left quickly.

“Gaius,” Arthur asked once Morgana had slipped into an easy sleep. “Who is Merlin?”

Gaius stiffened and stared at Arthur. “I’m sorry, sire,” he said, “I had thought he’d be gone. He’s merely the son of an old friend.”

“Well, he was a bit rude.”

Gaius ducked his head, “Merlin is a good boy, but he is not used to peo—cities.”

Arthur nodded and left it at that.

*

Arthur had expected to see no more of the rude Merlin, but lo and behold, the boy turned up yet again. Gaius was away for a week, dealing with an outbreak in some outlying village. Arthur had been training with his knights when he felt a pain in his shoulder. He glanced down and saw scarlet staining his tunic.

“Sire!” Sir Merek cried, throwing down his sword and rushing forward. Arthur waved him off.

“I’m fine,” he said shortly. “Leon, carry on without me.”

Leon nodded and barked out an order. Arthur shot Sir Merek a reassuring smile and turned in the direction of Gaius’ chambers.

He had forgotten the old physician wasn’t in, and so when he finally remembered he was already at the door.

_Maybe the old man left some bandages lying around_ , Arthur thought without much hope.

Gaius had not, but there was a familiar mop of dark hair bent over a table.

Arthur cleared his throat, and was very pleased when _M-Merlin_ started, whirling around.

“Merlin,” Arthur said jovially. “Looking for another book?”

“N-no, sire.”

“Well, can you tell me where the bandages are?”

Merlin scanned his body with a critical eye. He paused on the wound in Arthur’s shoulder.

“You’re bleeding,” he said in surprise.

Arthur blinked, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “Well,” he said at length, “nothing gets by you, does it _Mer_ lin?”

Merlin ducked his head. “Sorry sire.”

Merlin hurried to the shelves that lined the wall, and as he passed Arthur, the prince could have sworn the other boy mumbled “ _Prat_ ,” under his breath.

“What did you say?” the prince asked icily.

“Nothing, sire,” Merlin said innocently, but Arthur could hear the smile in his voice.

“You _do_ know who I am, do you not?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin ducked his head, “Yes.”

“Yes _sire_.”

“ _Sire_.” Merlin replied, somehow managing to make the title of honor sound derogatory.

Merlin flinched, but Arthur was feeling much better for some reason. There was something about Merlin . . . talking with him just felt _right_.

“You know I’ve been trained to kill since birth,” Arthur said conversationally. 

He watched in satisfaction as Merlin’s face paled even further, but that did not stop Merlin from replying, “Oh? And how long have you trained to be a prat?”

“You can’t address me like that,” Arthur told him without conviction.

Merlin must have heard the lack of any real harshness. “Sorry,” he said, bowing his head mockingly. “How long have you trained to be a prat _my lord?_ ”

Arthur grinned, allowing Merlin to begin bandaging his wound. “So tell me, _Mer_ lin,” he said. “You been training to be Gaius’ assistant or something?”

“Or something,” Merlin agreed easily.

“And where are you from?”

“Not far from here,” Merlin said. “Probably some place you’ve never been to.”

“I’ve traveled far and wide,” Arthur said. “Been to many places and met many people.”

“Oh?” Merlin looked almost insultingly surprised. “Why?”

“They’re my people,” Arthur said, turning to gaze out the window. Merlin tightened the bandage, and Arthur’s arm tingled. “Without them, Camelot—my title as a king—means nothing. I owe them everything.”

“That . . .” Merlin trailed off, focusing intently on dressing Arthur’s wound. “That is a wise and noble thing to say,” the boy said quietly. “Kings are nothing without their people.”

“Indeed,” Arthur said, studying Merlin carefully.

“Do you help all people, sire?”

“How do you mean?”

“All people . . . even magi—” Merlin trailed off, resolutely not looking at Arthur. The dark haired boy cleared his throat slightly. “Even those without titles.”

But Arthur caught on.

“Not all people with magic are evil,” Arthur said softly. “I help those who need it, who are good and are loyal to Camelot.”

Merlin stared unwaveringly at Arthur, his blue eyes darkened by . . . something.

“I think one day, you will be a great king,” Merlin finally said, and Arthur couldn’t tell what he thought about Arthur’s statement. “There,” Merlin added, pulling away. “Your wound will be fine. Go easy on the arm for two days, and if something happens, find Gaius. He’ll be back sundown tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Merlin.” Arthur said, rotating his arm slowly. “You’re not a complete idiot, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks _sire_.” Merlin muttered.

Merlin flashed him a tight smile before retreating back to the table he had been at before.

Arthur slipped away, looking at Merlin curiously as he left.

*

Arthur’s wound healed remarkably fast, faster than any other wound he had had before had healed. He put it down as some new ointment that Gaius had created, and thought nothing else of it.

He ignored the fact that Merlin had applied no salve.

He also ignored the fact that as he left, he could have sworn he saw Merlin’s eyes flash gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose that I should note here that the reason Merlin has a bit of a sarcastic streak is from Gaius. Gaius is really his only form of human contact, and so Merlin knows only how to treat people like he would Gaius. He understands that royalty aren't to be treated like that (which was why he froze) but it didn't really hit him until that moment.
> 
> Uther is Merlin's Master, and therefore _better_ than human, in Merlin's mind. To him, Arthur isn't really someone he relates to Uther, because he's never actually been in the same room as Arthur before. Arthur is a prince, Uther is his Master--it doesn't really click in Merlin's mind that Uther IS a king, and a king isn't the same as being his Master. Hope that makes sense.


	6. Just One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, here's the new chapter. Remember that The Ancient Call is now updated only once a week--Thursdays. Please enjoy this new chapter!

Merlin was excited. And nervous. Mostly excited.

A cart flew past him, causing Merlin to jump in fright.

_Nope, definitely nervous_ , Merlin thought. He pulled his cloak further over his head and slipped around a passing couple and down an alleyway.

“Gwaine!” A familiar voice suddenly complained. “That’s the third tavern you’ve got us kicked out of!”

“Yeah,” a woman’s voice chimed in. “And I was just getting into the good stuff!”

“You saw what that lord was doing!” Another voice protested, and before Merlin could hide several people rounded the corner.

Merlin recognized two of them immediately; Gwen and that prince prat he ran into in Gaius’ chambers a few times weeks back.

“Merlin!” Gwen said, blinking before warmly smiling. Merlin felt a thrill run through him at the thought that Gwen _remembered_ him.

“You _know_ him?” Arthur demanded, glaring slightly at Merlin. Merlin shrank back slightly, shuffling his feet slightly.

“We ran into each other a few months back,” Gwen said, laughing slightly at herself. Another dark haired woman with skin almost as pale as Merlin’s was eyeing him carefully.

“Well, why don’t you introduce us?” A man next to Arthur said.

“Of course,” Gwen said, flustered slightly. “Everyone, this is Merlin. Merlin, this is Gwaine,” she pointed to the dark haired man who had requested introductions, “Morgana,” the dark haired woman next to her, “and Sir Leon.” The last man, who hovered near prince prat like a bodyguard nodded politely. “And I suppose you already know Arth—Prince Arthur, I mean.”

“We ran into each other as well,” the prat said stiffly.

“Where have you been?” Gwen asked, “I thought for sure I’d run into you sooner!”

“I . . . er, I don’t live in Camelot.” Merlin said quickly.

“You don’t?” Morgana asked, eyebrows raised. “Where do you live?”

“Um, Elador.” Merlin said, thinking of the last person from out of the city who had come to see Gaius last week. It had been a young man about Merlin’s age who said his name was Will. The village was being attacked by vagabonds, and the young man had come to Gaius for herbs and remedies for the many wounds the villagers suffered. Gaius would have gone himself if the village was in Camelot’s lands and not Cendred’s, and if Merlin hadn’t had another screaming episode two nights before.

“That’s . . . in Cendred’s kingdom, is it not?” Morgana asked.

Merlin could only nod mutely, looking down at the ground.

“So why are you here?” Arthur asked bluntly.

“Um . . . Gaius is the best healer around.” Merlin said. “I’m studying under him. M-my village is under attack often b-by bandits.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Arthur said.

_Maybe not such a prat after all_ , Merlin thought.

“W-well, I better be going,” Merlin stammered. “Gaius is letting me stay the night, and I d-don’t want to get locked out.”

“Hey, next time we meet I’ll take you for a drink,” Gwaine winked, grinning widely.

“S-sure,” Merlin said, not sure what ‘a drink’ entailed. Perhaps people outside drank water in a different way than he?

“Nice to meet you, Merlin.” Morgana said, looking like she truly meant it. Merlin flashed her a slight smile before fleeing back the way he had come.

Back in his Tower, with Gaius none the wiser of his exploits, Merlin wondered what Gwen and Arthur and Morgana and Gwaine and Leon would think if they knew that he was a monster—that he wasn’t even human.

“I am a monster,” Merlin whispered to himself, and traced the moonlight on the distant floor with longing in his eyes.

Oh, how he wished he was a human.

*

The next time he saw Arthur, it was because the prince was seeking him out. It was the day after meeting the prince outside. Gaius was doing his rounds, and Merlin had snuck down with several books under one arm. Gaius had left some food out for Merlin, and Merlin nibbled on some bread slices as he browsed the books, looking for ones he had not yet read.

(His Master had not wanted to give him an education, but Gaius had convinced him that if his Master ever wanted to harness Merlin’s power, some knowledge would be a good thing to have under his belt. Merlin thought Gaius was teaching him more than his Master wanted, but Merlin wasn’t complaining.)

Arthur was leaning against the door frame when Merlin turned around, a hunk of bread still shoved in his mouth.

Arthur smirked when Merlin jumped, eyes wide and cheeks budging as he tried to swallow and spit the food out. Merlin ended up hacking, bending over and braced against the table.

“It’s called breathing, _Mer_ lin.” Arthur smirked.

“Shut up,” Merlin said reflexively.

(Where was the cheek coming from? Merlin wondered for days after his first few meets with the prince. He had never talked back to his Master, though he and Gaius would sometimes snipe back and forth at each other in good jest. Arthur felt more like Gaius than his Master, though Merlin figured Arthur must be his Master’s son. Just . . . and Merlin felt bad for thinking this because _he owed his Master everything_ —Arthur was nicer.)

Arthur’s lips twitched, but he remained stoic as he sauntered down into Gaius’ chambers.

“So, _Mer_ lin,” Arthur drawled. “You’re leaving soon, I take it.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, refusing to look at Arthur.

“You say your village is being attacked,” Arthur said. “Elador, right?”

“Er, yeah,” Merlin said, though he didn’t really remember which village he said he’d hailed from.

“Perhaps I could visit,” Arthur said casually. “Bandits, you said.”

“But . . . it’s not on your lands!” Merlin said quickly, starting to feel uncomfortable. If Arthur went, he’d know Merlin had never lived there.

“I think I should be able to help people, no matter where they come.” Arthur said seriously.

Merlin looked away.

“Anyway,” Arthur said, “it’s not all that far away. I could take a few men, dress them in plainclothes so that we don’t start a war, and help the villagers. What say you? Need a ride back home?”

Merlin averted his gaze. “I’m not leaving just yet,” he mumbled. “There’s still some things I need to learn and some herbs and remedies Gaius is helping me collect and make.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, looking at Merlin closely. “There’s something about you, Merlin. I just can’t quite put my finger on it . . .”

Merlin began panicking, wondering if Arthur was finally seeing the monster he was, the evil he wielded.

“I-I’ve got to go,” he stuttered, backing away.

“Merlin, I meant nothing by it!” Arthur said, looking confused. “Do you not think I should help your people?”

_My people are evil to the bone_ , Merlin wanted to say.

_My people are Dark as Hell_ , Merlin wanted to say.

_My people are murderers. They are sorcerers_ , Merlin wanted to say.

_My people are monsters_. Was it just him or was his Master’s voice overlaying his own?

“I think you should do what your heart believes to be right,” Merlin said. “One day, you will be king. You cannot live in doubt or fear. You must be true to what you believe in and not let anyone tell you otherwise. They are not you, and you are not them. They cannot tell you how to live your life. If you think that helping people who live in another kingdom is the right thing to do, then do so and deal with the consequences. But do it because you think it is right.”

Merlin’s mouth snapped shut, and he looked down, hands clenched in an unthreatening manner.

( _“Sorcerers fight with their palms open,” his Master told him once, when Merlin was six. “When you are in my presence, you keep your hands closed.”_ )

(Merlin hated keeping his hands open.)

Arthur was looking at him with an undefinable expression on his face, searching Merlin’s face and eyes as though he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

(If Merlin knew other people beyond Gaius and his Master, he would know that the expression Arthur wore was that of confused curiosity, with a hint of understanding and thankfulness. As it was, Merlin knew little of other people and their expressions.)

“I think one could almost mistake that for wisdom,” Arthur said finally.

Merlin made a big show of thinking it over before decidedly shaking his head. “Couldn’t be,” he said.

“Of course,” Arthur was quick to agree, though his eyes were soft. Merlin looked away.

“I hope Gaius can teach you everything you want to know,” Arthur said. “I shall ride for Elador at noon tomorrow, should you change your mind.”

Merlin wanted to go, wanted to see the world beyond Camelot. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. His Master would disprove, and he owed his Master _everything_.

So Merlin merely smiled and looked away.

Arthur left, looking behind him with that unreadable expression


	7. I Thought We All Were the Children of God

Uther fell ill when Arthur was twenty six.

There were a few tears shed, but most of the people seemed quite willing to embrace Arthur as their new king in the face of Uther’s eventual death. Uther passed the crown over to Arthur before he died, wishing to see his son take the throne before his death. Arthur was crowned the next day, and the cheers from his people shook the sky. Morgana and Gwen beamed at him, happy for him and for Camelot.

The first thing Arthur did (after Uther was safely shut away back in his chambers) was repeal the law that only nobility could be knighted. The second thing he did was call for Lancelot, Percival, Elyan and Gwaine before knighting them in front of the entire court.

The third thing he did was order the shutdown of the Palace of Justice, for the survivors to be given reprieve, and for the structure to be torn down.

He could hear the applause of his people from the throne room.

Arthur knew his father would be furious beyond everything that Arthur had done such things within an hour of being king, but he remembered Merlin’s words from a year ago and felt his heart harden against Uther’s words. Arthur was king now, and he would rule Camelot how he deemed fit.

(He had not seen Merlin since that day, and he often wondered where the boy had gone.)

After all was said and done, he retired to his rooms for a time, not to be seen by anyone but a lone servant who brought him his meals.

On the third day of his retreat, he summoned Morgana, Gwen, Leon, and his new knights. They feasted around the table for a time before it turned to lazy talk as they settled in front of the fireplace.

“Arthur, what is it?” Gwen asked gently. Arthur felt a stir in his heart at her gentle voice, and he smiled wanly at her.

“My father,” he said, setting his goblet down on a nearby table, “summoned me shortly before the ceremony to tell me something.”

“What was it, mate?” Gwaine asked, smirking.

“It was about the Dark Tower,” Arthur said. There was a collective hush as his friends stared at him.

Everyone had heard of the Dark Tower. It was whispered to children at night, and those who visited Camelot saw the Tower before all else. It rose high about the citadel, blocking the light and casting a shadow over the town at times.

That was where Camelot’s Monster lived.

No one but Uther had seen the Monster. It sometimes howled in the night when all else was quiet. Some people in the lower town would swear on their mother’s graves that they would sometimes see a figure near the deep-set window that faced the cold north. Arthur himself had been on the battlements once when the creature began crying out. The sound had struck terror into Arthur’s heart, but at the same time . . . the sound was strangely human.

“What about it?” Morgana asked carefully. If you leaned out her window enough, you could see the Dark Tower near Gaius’ chambers. Morgana hated the sight of it.

“My father asked me to execute it,” Arthur said.

“Did he tell you why he kept it in the first place?” Gwaine demanded. “I’ve heard stories, mate. When Uther caught a sorcerer he deemed too dangerous for the Palace of Justice, he’d lock ‘em in the Tower with the Monster and listen to their screams.”

“That never happened,” Arthur scoffed. “No one has ever seen the Monster except for my father.”

“But why did he keep it?” Gwaine pressed.

Arthur sighed. “Apparently he was told that if he killed the Monster, he would lose everything that mattered to him. Camelot would fall, his children killed, everything he had worked for . . . gone.”

“So he kept it,” Lancelot said.

“Yes,” Arthur nodded. “And now he wants me to kill it.”

“And are you?” Percival asked.

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “It has taken me many years, but now I know that my father was wrong about so many things.”

“What are you saying?” Elyan asked.

Arthur shook his head slowly. “What if,” he said carefully, “my father was blinder than we know? What if the Monster of Camelot isn’t a monster at all, but a person?”

There was silence as his friends looked at him, shock written all over their faces.

“Arthur,” Morgana said. “You _have_ heard this thing scream, haven’t you? Nothing but a monster would make those horrible sounds.”

“What if it was being tortured?” Arthur pressed on stubbornly. “We are talking about Uther, Morgana. You know, the man who made the Palace of Justice?”

“Yeah,” Morgana said, “But Arthur, why didn’t he just lock the creature up in the Palace? Why here?”

“He kept the Great Dragon here,” Arthur said distantly, thinking about the secrets Uther had told him before the ceremony. “I think he keeps all the powerful magical creatures here.”

“The Great Dragon is a monster,” Gwaine said. “Arthur, you just said it was a creature. Now, I may be drunk most of the time and reckless all the time, but even the Monster of Camelot gives me the shivers. I’ve heard its cries, I’ve heard the stories. There is _no way_ this thing is human or even intelligent like the dragons were rumored to be.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur said, glaring at his new knight. “I’m not my father, and so I’m going to find it and see for myself. However, I don’t know where it is. My father was overcome by a coughing fit before he could tell me where the entrance is. He has been too ill these last few days for me to visit.”

“Then there’s only one person to ask,” Gwen said.

All eyes turned to her, questioning.

“Who did Uther trust more than anyone else?” she asked.

“Gaius,” Morgana realized.

The group looked at each other before everyone leapt to their feet, racing out the door and down to the chambers of the Court Physician.

They never made it.


	8. Never Meant for Heaven’s Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, folks!  
> Sorry these chapters were posted so late--I've been driving.

Merlin crept through the halls of Camelot, listening to the festival going on outside. He didn’t know what or why people were celebrating, but he couldn’t help but wish he was out there with them.

Merlin heard a group of people ahead of him before Prince Pra—Arthur’s voice rang out through the stone hallway.

“Father!” he said, clearly surprised. “What are you doing up? You’re meant to be resting.”

“You knighted commoners,” another voice hissed, and Merlin shuddered at the hatred laced in his Master’s voice. “You’re tearing my Palace of Justice down!”

“I do not condone torture of innocents.” Arthur said icily.

“Those with magic are monsters!” His Master spat. Footsteps quickened, and Merlin was, once again, too late to hide.

His Master rounded the corner, stopping dead when he spotted Merlin. Behind him came Arthur, Gwen, Morgana, Gwaine, Leon, and two other people he didn’t know.

“Merlin!” Gwen breathed.

Fury sank into his Master’s face, and Merlin flinched.

“You . . .!” his Master hissed.

“Wait, please . . .” Merlin tried, backing away from his Master. “I was just . . .”

“This is how you repay me?” His Master shouted, balling his fists. The group behind his Master were looking confused, glancing between his Master and Merlin.

“Father . . .” Arthur said cautiously.

His Master charged. “You will _never_ be allowed here! The light is not for you!”

Merlin was helpless in the face of his Master’s rage, and merely took the hits, flinching each time his Master struck out. There was shouting, there was screaming, and finally his Master was pulled off of him, eyes wild as he looked at Merlin.

“Father!” Arthur panted, staring at Merlin’s Master as if he had never seen the man before.

“You must die, _boy,_ ” his Master wheezed, his face pale and wane.

“Father, you can’t . . . you’re ill, come back to your chambers . . .” Arthur stammered, glancing between Merlin and Merlin’s Master.

Merlin’s Master shook Arthur off, grabbing Arthur’s sword from Arthur’s belt.

“Father!” Morgana screamed as Merlin’s Master swung the blade towards Merlin. Merlin looked at his Master with terror, unable to understand what was happening. His mind was a gibbering mess of fear.

Suddenly the blade was blocked by Gwaine’s sword. Gwaine himself was looking furious, pushing Merlin’s Master back and away from Merlin.

“Get out of my way, _peasant,_ ” his Master snarled.

“No,” Gwaine said resolutely. “I may not be nobly born, but I sure as hell am not going to let you kill Merlin.”

“Get out of my way!”

“No,” Gwen spoke suddenly, joining Gwaine, standing in front of Merlin. Morgana crossed and stood in front of him, too. Then Leon was joining them followed by the other two knights. Finally Arthur stood in front of them all.

His Master puffed up in rage. “As you king—” he began icily before Arthur interrupted.

“No, father,” he said. “I am king, now. You will not kill Merlin.”

His Master’s eyes found Merlin’s, and suddenly fear flickered through them. “You did this to my son,” he whispered with horror. “You did this . . .”

Merlin shook his head frantically.

“No, please,” he breathed. “I did not, I swear, I did nothing, Master please . . .”

The group standing in front of him looked at him in confusion when he uttered the word ‘Master’. Arthur was looking pained, as if he knew he was missing something, but didn’t know what.

“You did this!” His Master screamed, flinging himself at Merlin, sword raised without a care for the group standing in front of him.

His Master died, several swords stuck in him.

Arthur was looking at his blood, dripping in blood, in shock. Morgana was looking down at the dying man without remorse. The knights were looking at each other as if they didn’t quite know how to feel about killing Merlin’s Master. Gwen was looking at Merlin with a gentle expression.

Merlin could only look at his dying Master, whose hatful gaze was locked on Merlin.

“No . . .” Merlin whispered softly.

“Merlin?” Gwen asked gently. “Are you . . . are you okay?”

Merlin didn’t respond, looking at her fright and fleeing quickly down the corridor.

“Merlin!” He heard Gwen and Arthur shout. Morgana and Gwaine were also shouting something, but Merlin could no longer hear.

He looped through the castle, taking the secret passageways he knew better than the castle itself. He went further down, bursting into the corridor with Gaius’ chambers and his own salvation.

Arthur, Gwen and the others had long since lost him.

He tore through the empty physician chambers and up the stairs to the little closet of the room. He had to pause, opening the secret passage that would allow him up to his Tower. He was running as soon as the door was open, knowing that it would close as soon as he was through. He raced up the stairs, barely out of breath, and into the main room of his Tower. He ran up the ramp, up the ladder, and buried himself in his bed of blankets.

His Master was dead. Because of _him_. His Master, his King, the only person who truly cared for him, who granted him mercy despite being a filthy monster, infected with magic, who accepted him and treated him as he had deserved, was dead. He died thinking Merlin had finally turned against him. Twenty years of care, and that . . . that was how Merlin repaid him. His Master ended up dead, and Merlin had unknowingly turned his own son against him.

“Master . . .” Merlin whimpered, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to shut out the world.

The people outside still cheered.

Merlin felt filthy. Merlin felt like a monster. He now finally realized just how evil he was—his Master was dead because of _him_. His Master died because Merlin had enchanted his son into _killing him_.

Merlin did not deserve to be among humans.


	9. What Makes a Monster and What Makes a Man?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So here’s the last chapter! Thank you everyone who reviewed and followed. I don’t see me writing anymore to this universe, just so you know. Please enjoy—I hope it’s satisfactory.

“Merlin!” Arthur gave the chase, following the younger, smaller boy through the corridors. Whoever Merlin was, he was fast. He slipped down corridors and passageways quicker than Arthur could follow, and Arthur and his knights soon lost the boy.

They went back to Morgana and Gwen, who stood watching some guards lift Uther’s body onto a stretcher.

“Merlin called Uther ‘Master’,” Gwen murmured to Arthur when she became aware of his presence.

“I know,” Arthur said. “I think he lied to us.”

“Oh, he did lie to us,” Morgana agreed. “I take it you didn’t catch him?”

“No,” Arthur said.

“Who was that?” Elyan asked. “Who was Merlin?”

Arthur shrugged. “Someone we keep meeting,” he said. “He said he was from Elador, but when we went to clean up the village from bandits, no one had heard of Merlin.”

“How are you holding up?” Gwen whispered, looking at him, sympathy in her eyes.

Arthur shook his head. “My father died long before the disease,” he murmured. “He was lost in his hatred and bitterness.”

“Why’d he go after Merlin?” Gwaine asked loudly. “What had Merlin done?”

“Maybe he thought Merlin was someone else,” Leon suggested. “A sorcerer or something.”

“We have arrangements we need to make,” Arthur said. “Merlin can wait.”

*

Arthur sat at the table, reading a letter his father had written to him shortly before his death. It told Arthur that Uther believed he’d be a great king one day, how Arthur would do Camelot justice, and to dispose of the Monster in the Dark Tower.

“What is it?” Morgana asked when she, Gwen and the knights arrived to dine with Arthur.

“It’s about the Monster again,” Arthur said, folding the letter and slipping it into his pocket. “He reiterated that I need to kill it.”

“We ought to ask Gaius.” Morgana said. “Father was wrong about many things, Arthur. Maybe . . .”

“Maybe what?” Arthur asked.

“Maybe the Monster isn’t a Monster.” Morgana said slowly, as if she did not want to admit that perhaps she had been wrong. “Maybe it was part of Uther’s delusions.”

Arthur sighed softly, glad Morgana was seeing his side. “We’ll go after supper,” he said. “For now, I want to hear none of it.”

“Of course,” Gwen said.

Gwaine grinned suddenly. “Did I ever tell you about this woman that I met in a tavern in Wilton? It involves mead, a duck, and a field turned pink . . .”

Arthur settled back to enjoy the story, grinning slightly.

*

Gaius was mashing something in a mortar when they arrived, and he looked up in surprise as his chamber doors burst open, knights and servants and nobles pouring in. He looked tired, his white hair tangled slightly, and there were deeper bags under his eyes than usual.

“Arthur,” he greeted, “how may I help you?”

“I’m sorry about my father,” Arthur said without preamble. “I know you were friends.”

“I know it had to happen someday, my lord.” Gaius said softly. He did not look particularly sad, in Arthur’s opinion.

“How are you holding up?” Arthur asked gently.

Gaius’ eyes flickered upwards before returning to the king’s face. “I have been better, my lord.” He said. “Give me time and I will be fine.”

“Take all the time you need,” Arthur commanded.

“I highly doubt you all came down to ask an old man how he was doing.” Gaius said dryly. “That kind of thing need hardly require the attentions of the king, a lady and his close knights. What is it you needed?”

“You can tell me about the Dark Tower.” Arthur said. Their suspicions were confirmed when Gaius’ face drained of color. He carefully set the pestle aside and straightened up, looking Arthur in the eye.

“Uther order you to kill . . . it.”

Arthur nodded slowly. “We need to know where the entrance is,” he said. “You’re the only one we could think of that would know where it is. Please, Gaius.”

Gaius hesitated, looking torn. He glanced around the room, clearly hoping to find some way out. Arthur was confused—Gaius had never acted this way before.

“What is this about?” Morgana asked. “Gaius?”

Gaius shook his head. “It is nothing, m’lady,” he murmured. He looked Arthur in the eye again. “Will you kill it, sire?”

Arthur paused, looking carefully at the other man. Gaius’ face was tired and sad, as though he were about to witness a great tragedy. He looked defeated.

Gaius had been more like a father to Arthur than Uther had ever been. Something was bothering him, and it had something to do with the Monster.

“Not until I am sure it is a threat,” Arthur said at last.

Gaius sighed and nodded slowly. “Then follow me,” he said and turned to the room at the back of his chambers.

*

“Where is he going?” Elyan asked, confused. Arthur didn’t know, but he trusted Gaius and so led the way as he followed the old man.

Gaius opened the door into a small room that was barely more than a glorified closet. There were even more books piled in stacks, and pieces of parchment tucked here and there. Gaius strode over to a wardrobe that seemed built into the wall and pulled it open. There were no clothes, but a few moths escaped.

“Gaius, what is the meaning of this?” Morgana demanded as they all crowded into the room. “We want to go to the Dark Tower!”

“And you shall, m’lady.” Gaius said. He did something to the side of the wardrobe—Arthur could not easily see his hands from this angle, and suddenly the back of the wardrobe disappeared. Beyond it was a dark corridor.

“What the . . .” Gwaine breathed. Gaius hoisted himself into the wardrobe and into the tunnel beyond. He fumbled with something, striking two flints together and lighting a torch positioned into the wall.

“Uther had several people build this shortly after the Great Purge began,” Gaius explained as he grabbed the torch and shuffled back, allowing them to climb in after him. “Those that built it were later killed. Only he and I knew it existed.”

“We’re going to see the Monster of Camelot!” Gwaine crowed quietly.

“Oh, hush.” Gaius snapped. “This way!”

Gaius set off at a march that he should not be able to achieve and his age. Arthur and the others made sure to keep up as Gaius led them down the passage. They had been going in near silence—Gwaine kept snickering to himself—for a few minutes before the passage curved slightly and a set of stairs appeared.

“What is that?” Percival asked suddenly. Everyone jumped and stared at the large knight. Percival seemed to be listening to something, and so Arthur strained his own ears—and there was chatter and laughter and talk.

“Gaius, where are we in relation to the castle?” he asked.

“Near the kitchens, sire.” Gaius said. “These tunnels are built into the very walls of Camelot.”

“The Monster can hear people from here,” Gwen said.

Gaius pressed his lips tightly together. “It is a favorite pastime of its,” was all he said.

Arthur suppressed a shudder at the thought of something as horrible as the Monster of Camelot listening in on his people.

Gaius began to ascend the stairs, laboriously going one step at a time. The stairs were tight, allowing only one person at a time. Gaius led the way with his torch, Arthur not far behind.

“So, is this Monster going to attack us?” Arthur asked conversationally.

Gaius wheezed out a laugh. “No sire,” he said. “Not unless you attack first.”

Arthur nodded thoughtfully.

“We there yet?” Gwaine called from further down.

“Nearly, I think.” Leon said, who was behind Arthur.

“Nearly,” Gaius agreed.

They were quite high up now, and Arthur was just about wondering when they _would_ come to the top when, suddenly, they were.

The top of the tower always looked tall from the outside, but now Arthur could see that it was quite spacious inside as well. The stone floor was circular, and about a third of it was covered with an ankle-high wooden platform to Arthur’s right. That miniature platform had a ramp leading to the next level which—Arthur walked further into the room to get a better view—covered two-thirds of the space above him, to the left of the miniature platform. That was connected to the topmost level by a ladder. The topmost platform was about as wide as the miniature one.

But what really caught Arthur’s eyes were the trinkets.

There were bits of colored glass strung together in elegant looking chains. The wooden planks had carved designs of the highest craft Arthur had ever seen—of birds, mostly (since that was probably what the Monster saw the most) but also of people and houses and the distant mountains. Strings dyed many different colors were wrapped around the planks and ladders, and the stone walls had many strings of different colors dangling down the sides from where they were tied to the platforms. Glass vials were also tied in a mobile from the second platform, and cast wavering light-shadows across the walls.

“It’s beautiful,” Gwen murmured.

“Where is it?” Arthur asked, equally soft.

Gaius cleared his throat, “Merlin.”

“Merlin?” Arthur, Gwen, Gwaine and Elyan all asked at the same time, incredulity in their voices.

They were about to all begin talking at once, but a rustling from the highest level drew their attentions upwards. At mop of black hair with blue eyes and incredibly pale skin peered down and blinked.

“Gaius?” Merlin asked. His voice was thick, as though he had been . . . crying.

“Merlin, the king wishes to see you,” Gaius said.

Merlin’s head disappeared, but his feet led the way as he climbed down the ladder and across the second platform. He ignored the ramp and merely jumped down gracefully to the miniature platform, head bent and shoulders hunched in. His fists were clenched at his sides.

There was a beat of silence in which Merlin peeked from under his bangs.

“That’s not Uther,” was all he said.

“No,” Gaius said gently. “Uther is dead, Merlin.”

Merlin flinched, looking stricken.

“It wasn’t your fault, Merlin.” Gaius whispered.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait.” Gwaine said. “ _This_ is the Monster of Camelot?” He waved his hand in Merlin’s direction. “That’s—that’s _Merlin._ ”

Merlin blinked, than nodded. “I’m the monster,” Merlin said. “My name just happens to be Merlin.”

“ _Seriously?_ ” Gwaine asked. “This . . . this isn’t monster—this is a man!”

“I am a monster.” Merlin said. Gaius flinched, and Arthur was beginning to hate that his father had, once again, been the perpetrator of something horribly terrible . . . and that he had all thought it was for the greater good.

Because this was _Merlin_ who, from what Arthur had seen, was a wise and kind person. He certainly did not deserve to live in fear.

“Merlin,” he said. “You’re—how long have you been in this Tower?”

Merlin shrugged. “All my life,” he said.

“And you’ve never left?” Arthur asked sarcastically.

Merlin winced. “Er . . .”

“I was teaching him healing, sire.” Gaius inserted quickly. “He never left my chambers.”

So Gaius didn’t know about Merlin’s expeditions out of the Tower. It was probably Merlin’s only way to have a semblance of freedom. The thought lay heavily in Arthur’s gut.

Though he—and Gwen, Morgana, and Gwaine—remained silent, Merlin apparently had no sense of self-preservation.

“Uh . . .” the boy said eloquently.

Gaius rounded on Merlin. “Merlin!”

“What?” Merlin protested. “I was curious!”

“How many times do I have to warn you that Uther would have your head if you left the Tower?”

“More than I can count,” Merlin said.

“And how many times did you leave?”

Merlin looked away.

“More than you can count.” Arthur said.

“You left the Tower!” Gaius exclaimed furiously. Merlin flinched slightly and looked, frankly, like an apologetic, kicked kitten. He was no more a monster then Morgana.

“I wanted to smell the bread,” Merlin said. “To see people, to feel the grass, to listen to music. Why d’you think I never told you? It’d have gone against my Master’s wishes.”

“Master,” Arthur repeated.

“Uther,” Gaius muttered. He was still glaring at Merlin.

Arthur closed his eyes. He had never seen such a sorry sight, and the only thing right now he could feel for Merlin was pity. He had to say something. “Sorry, Merlin, but why are you a monster? You look human enough to me.”

Merlin ducked his head. “I was born with magic, sire.”

“ _Born_ with magic?” Elyan asked, “You can’t be _born_ with magic.”

“Which makes Merlin almost unique,” Gaius said. “I’ve been raising Merlin since he was a lad, and before he could walk he was moving things with magic.”

There was a beat of silence.

“How are you still alive and not dead in the Palace of Justice?” Gwaine demanded.

“Uther killed his parents,” Gaius said. “His father was a good friend of mine—Balinor. He was taken to the Palace of Justice. However, his mother ran. She fled deep into the citadel, where she came upon the Great Dragon. Uther caught up to her and killed her, and was about to kill Merlin before the Great Dragon intervened and told him that without Merlin, Uther would lose everything he cared about.”

Everyone, including Merlin, was looking at Gaius in shock.

“You never told me this,” Merlin accused suddenly. “You . . . my Master always said that she abandoned me to save herself!”

Just when Arthur didn’t think it could get worse . . .

Gaius shot him a guilty look. “Uther forbade me to,” was all he said.

 

“Well,” Arthur said. “Yet another thing I had found I must atone for. Merlin, you are not a monster for having magic.”

“But—” Merlin began to protest. Arthur held up a hand.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m king, so therefore I’m right. You’re not a monster. Now, how about we get you out of this Tower, okay?”

“My Master is dead because of me,” Merlin whispered, eyes filling with tears. “I truly am a monster.”

Arthur’s friends began protesting, but Arthur held up his hand to silence them. “Leave us,” he said, and there must have been something . . . something in this tone that got Morgana and Leon ushering everyone else out. Gwen, Gaius and Gwaine were protesting loudly, but Morgana and Leon were not swayed. Soon the door to Merlin’s room swung shut, leaving only Arthur and Merlin.

Arthur felt sick when Merlin referred to Uther as his ‘Master’. He felt sick at Merlin’s conviction that he was a monster. He just . . . the entire situation made him sick. It was repulsive. It was inhuman.

His father spent his life teaching Merlin that he was less than human because of how he was born. Merlin was born with magic—he was born _different_.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “How did you view your Master?”

Merlin flinched, and that really was the only confirmation Arthur needed, but Merlin spoke anyways; “My Master was good to me,” he whispered, staring down at his closed fists. “He was kind to me. He—he said he saved my life when I was a child, showed me mercy despite my . . . my magic. He cared for me.”

“No,” Arthur said. “He didn’t.”

Merlin’s head shot up, and he glared heatedly at Arthur. “My Master cared for me!” he hissed.

“Merlin,” Arthur said. “Someone who cares about another does not lock that person up in a Tower and convince them that they are a monster.”

Merlin shook his head.

“Here,” Arthur said. “I can read a person’s life, did you know that?”

“What?”

Arthur crossed over to Merlin (Merlin flinched, but Arthur ignored that) and took his hand gently. The cheering outside put him in mind of a festival he’d attended in a village not far from here. There had been a fortune teller, who assured Arthur that he couldn’t _really_ do magic, but it was simply a way to fill his pocket. Arthur took pity on the starved man and had allowed the man to ‘read his future’. It was a load of horse dung, but Arthur was betting that Merlin wouldn’t know that.

“This line, right here, means that you have a long life.” Arthur was pulling this out of nowhere, and to him it sounded so very false, but Merlin was looking at his hand in rapt attention. “And this line,” he pointed to another, “means that you have a kind heart.” Merlin fidgeted slightly.

“Strange,” Arthur said finally, making a show of looking at Merlin’s palm.

“What?” Merlin demanded.

“I don’t see any monster lines,” Arthur said bluntly. “All I see are human lines. Human lines that tell me that the human they belong to has been lied to his entire life.”

A tear slid down Merlin’s chapped face.

Arthur set his hand down on Merlin’s shoulder and looked at him straight in the eye. “You are _not_ a monster.” Arthur said clearly. “It has taken me all this time to see it, but it is clear to me now that my father, Uther, your Master, was the monster.”

Merlin closed his eyes.

“You, Merlin, are more human than anyone I have met.” Arthur said. “From what I have seen of you, you are kind and compassionate and intelligent. You have been lied to. Magic . . . magic is not evil.”

“It’s against the Law,” Merlin said, as though the laws laid down by Uther was on par with the words of the gods.

“It won’t be,” Arthur said. “I’ve got some changes I need to make.”

“What?” Merlin asked, startled. He reopened his eyes and looked at Arthur with growing hope.

Arthur drew himself up. “I will legalize magic,” he said. “You will be free.”

A wide grin began growing on Merlin’s face, making him look so much younger than before.

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur grinned back.

Merlin would be alright.

*

In the end, Merlin was named Court Sorcerer. He walked amongst the people, listening to their stories, entertaining children . . . and the people loved him as much as he loved them. Though he felt indebted to Arthur, Merlin did not grovel and agree to whatever Arthur said. He did not view Arthur as though the king perched on a cloud. He did not sing his praises where ever he went. Merlin instead knocked Arthur down, was entirely blunt with his words and made Arthur seriously think about his actions.

Arthur had never had a better advisor.

Arthur and Gwen married four years later. They both wanted to make sure Camelot was stable, and that their feelings were real. Merlin called them dollop heads—it was obvious they loved each other. But Arthur and Gwen were happy.

Morgana finally admitted she had magic, and she and Merlin spent time teaching themselves and each other how to control their magic.

Arthur released the Great Dragon as soon as magic was legalized. The dragon promised to be an ally to Arthur and Camelot before he flew away.

Arthur led a long and happy life, siring several children with Gwen and ruling a just and peaceful kingdom.

And Merlin never called himself a monster again.

Arthur lay on his death bed at an old age, hair as grey as Gaius’ hair had once been. Merlin and Percival, the only ones who remained of the Round Table, stared down at him sadly.

“Protect our people, Merlin.” Arthur rasped.

Merlin nodded. “I will, Arthur,” he murmured. “I will wait for you.”

“Of course you will, you idiot.” Arthur smiled. “I will see you again, one day.”

Merlin bowed his head, nodding.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly. His time was coming. Merlin raised his head and looked down at Arthur. “Thank you,”

Merlin nodded, a small smile twitching his lips.

And Arthur let go.


End file.
